Dragos Goes to Washington

  Over the summer, Dragos had commissioned an airstrip to be built just a mile away from their estate, so after their good-byes were said, the trip to the jet was short.

  The security detail and house staff who would be covering the D.C. trip had already left around ten p.m. the night before, Dragos told her. That included Eva, while Hugh would remain at home to watch over Liam’s welfare.

  She did a happy little wiggle in her seat. That also meant they would have the cabin of the jet to themselves. More sexy times were a-comin’.

  In short order, they boarded the jet. The preflight checks had already been completed, so as soon as Andrew, one of the co-pilots, had tucked the luggage into compartments, closed the door and stepped into the cockpit, the engines began a high, powerful whine.

  Pia had tucked her purse into a closet and thrown herself on one of the couches. As the plane started to roll down the runway, Dragos turned to her.

  The somewhat terse expression he had worn around other people vaporized. He looked feral again, and clenched.

  Her body knew that look. All he had to do was look at her like that, and reach for her with those two big hands, and desire flooded her in a liquid gush of heat.

  Either the airplane’s acceleration, or Dragos’s insistence, pushed her back against the leather cushions. She melted back willingly, while he tore her clothes off. Material ripped—she didn’t know what got damaged—she might have to pull out one of her suitcases to get something else she could wear later. . . .

  Then all coherent thought vanished. After he finished tearing off her clothes, he stripped rapidly. The slanting light from the windows striped his powerful body. Heavy muscles rippled under dark bronze skin as he came between her legs. The hunger that gripped her was insatiable. She ran her hands over sleek dark hair that covered the wide expanse of his chest.

  When he fingered her and found her ready, he entered her without ceremony. Gasping, she threw her head back at the intimate invasion. Thunderous noise vibrated all around her, accompanied by Dragos’s low, animalistic growl reverberating against her torso.

  Sometimes she didn’t know herself when she was with him. She lost that much control. They coupled wildly together. The couch wasn’t big enough to contain them.

  At one point, Dragos pulled them to the floor so that he could hold her ankles wide as he fucked her. She reached for anything she could grasp to brace herself at the onslaught, while the unbearably intense pleasure shot straight into the stratosphere, higher than the plane, until she shattered with waves of completion.

  The rest of the trip disappeared in a passionate haze. He took her again, standing and bracing himself with one hand against the wall, while she wrapped her legs around his waist and hung on for dear life.

  Then the air pressure changed slightly, signifying descent, and the pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “Just wanted to check in to let you know we’ll be landing in twenty minutes. It’s a beautiful day in D.C. and unseasonably warm for October, a balmy 78 degrees and sunny. Looks like you’ll have good weather for the week.”

  Dragos lifted his head from her shoulder. They were both sweaty, and his black hair looked even darker when damp.

  She had started out the day by oversleeping, and now she had no strength in any of her limbs. She whimpered, “We have to be presentable in twenty minutes?”

  Bending his head, he kissed her swiftly. “They’ll remain in the cockpit until I tell them they can come out.”

  That would mean they would be sitting in the cockpit, knowing full well what she and Dragos had been doing in the cabin.

  But who was she trying to fool? Their sex scent drenched the cabin air. Even if she rushed, as soon as the pilots stepped out, they would know what had happened.

  She rubbed her face. Her skin felt abraded by his whiskers. “Fine,” she muttered. “I get to shower first.” If they were anywhere but on the plane, she would suggest that they shower together, but the shower, while luxurious for a jet, was too small to accommodate both of them at once.

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure about that? You don’t look capable of moving.”

  He sounded immensely satisfied with that fact. Bah, men. She tried to scowl at him. “Yes, I’m sure. You’re faster in the shower than I am. I have more hair to get clean than you do. Besides, if we’re not done by the time we land, I would rather they scented you, not me.”

  His satisfied expression disappeared, and he scowled back. Clearly he didn’t like that thought either, even though their pilots were a mated pair of male Wyr ravens and wouldn’t be interested in Pia anyway. The dragon was an exceedingly jealous creature.

  Standing, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the back, into the luxurious bathroom. Then he set her on her feet again. He told her, “I’ll get your clothes. Hurry up.”

  She chuckled and stepped into the cubicle for her second shower of the day. Hot water ran soothingly over tired, abused muscles, and while she wanted to stand there and soak it in, she forced herself to lather and rinse quickly, so Dragos could have the shower while she dressed.

  The jet’s descent steepened as she inspected her clothes. It was her panties that had torn. She didn’t have time to dig out a new pair, so she stuffed them in the trash bin and dressed without them, then dug out a travel hairbrush from the stock of toiletries in the bathroom and yanked it through her wet, unruly hair. That was going to have to do. The pilots would still know what happened, of course, but it wouldn’t feel as exposing as having them scent it on her skin.

  As she sat on the toilet to slip on her sandals, Dragos sluiced off within two minutes, dressed with quick economy and ran long fingers through his wet hair. Then together, they stepped back into the cabin and took their seats just moments before the plane touched ground.

  As they braked hard, she felt queasy again, but over the last several hours, she had put out an extraordinary amount of energy. She was sore, achy and tired, and she’d only drunk a cup of coffee for breakfast.

  It was far too soon to feel any effects from possibly getting pregnant. The queasiness had to be a touch of motion sickness on an empty stomach.

  Still, she couldn’t stop herself from placing a hand low on her flat stomach and turning her focus inward to search for a tiny, new precious spark of life.

  There was none.

  She knew that. She knew better, but still a leaden disappointment pulled her down.

  Dragos’s massive, powerful hand came over hers, warming her. He pressed gently. She opened her eyes. She didn’t know what her face revealed, but his expression gentled. He put an arm around her, and she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder as the plane taxied to a stop.

  The cabin door opened. Dragos’s gentle expression faded as both pilots stepped out, but they kept their faces polite and indifferent, and exercised terrific discretion. As his mate pulled pieces of luggage from the bins, Andrew said cheerfully, “Welcome to D.C. I hope you have a great stay.”

  “Good flight,” said Dragos. “For a plane.”

  “Thanks,” Andrew said, with a quick, understanding grin.

  When Dragos stood, Pia did too.

  Her slight queasiness took a sharp turn for the worst.

  “Excuse me,” she muttered, bolting for the back of the plane and the bathroom, and slamming the door shut.

  She barely made it to the toilet before she vomited violently. Clutching the rim, her eyes streamed as her body heaved.

  What. The. Hell.

  “Pia.” Dragos’s sharp voice sounded just outside. The door rattled. “You locked the door. What’s wrong?”

  He hated locked doors between them. But this time he was going to have to suck it up. There were times when you just needed a moment or two by yourself, damn it.

  “Nothing,” she gritted out. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

  She grabbed a tissue and mopped her damp face while she waited to see if she was done.

  After an uncertain lurch, her s
tomach seemed to let go of its hissy fit and settled. She climbed to her feet on shaky legs, flushed and compulsively checked again for a life spark.

  Nothing. Of course, nothing. Looking grimly at her reflection in the mirror, she shook her head at her own foolishness.

  The door rattled again. Dragos said telepathically, If you don’t open this door in the next sixty seconds, I’ll come through it.

  She disappeared for TWO SECONDS, and suddenly he was completely determined to break the plane. She rolled her eyes.

  No reason to break down the door, she said testily. I had a touch of tummy trouble and had to use the toilet. I’m just washing up now.

  All of that was true, if a bit ambiguous. She washed her hands and face, and opened a travel packet of mouthwash to rinse out her mouth.

  The door rattling stopped.

  “Okay,” said Dragos. “Do you want your purse?”

  Now that she had given him some reassurance, he sounded perfectly mild and sane. Ha. She had gotten to know him all too well, and that perfectly mild and sane voice of his wasn’t going to fool her ever again.

  She told him, “Yes, please.”

  Now that the plane was on the tarmac and no longer moving—and her stomach was completely empty—she actually did feel better.

  She squared her shoulders and opened the bathroom door. Dragos leaned against one of the seats, waiting for her. He handed the purse to her, while his sharp gaze ran down her body.

  She sighed. “It’s not a big deal. The only thing I’ve put in my stomach since lunch yesterday was coffee.”

  “We’ll rectify that as soon as we get to the Wyr residence.” Straightening, he nodded to the two pilots waiting near the head of the plane. “Have a good week. I’ll be in touch when we finalize a time for our departure.”

  “Very good, sir,” said Andrew.

  Putting that rather ignominious arrival firmly behind her, she followed Dragos as he strolled down the aisle, and they deplaned into the sunny day.

  * * *

  Eva was waiting for them in the pickup lane, leaning against an armored black Cadillac Escalade.

  Preferring to drive, Dragos took the keys and slid into the driver’s seat, while Pia got into the front passenger seat and Eva climbed in the back.

  Actually, he would have preferred to avoid the heavy D.C. traffic altogether and fly directly to the Wyr residence, but there were strict no-fly laws over the area where they were headed. His cloaking ability was excellent, but he wasn’t altogether sure what the human sensors could detect of his presence.

  Prosaic radar technology couldn’t detect him when he was cloaking, but he would bet the Cuelebre Enterprises gross profit for the year on humans having more than just mechanical sensors guarding their capital. If he were a human in charge of guarding such an important city, he would have squadrons of witches laying protection spells over the city like gigantic, invisible spiderwebs.

  In any case, now was also not the time to break human laws and get everybody riled over something relatively unimportant. Not when humankind had become so nervous at the perceived damages caused by the Elder Races in the last two years.

  The Elder Races held a lot of magical Power, the most in the world. But humans held a lot of power of a different sort, in terms of sheer numbers in their population, along with military strength. Over the last few centuries, their numbers had multiplied so that their presence virtually covered the earth.

  Continuing to coexist was the very best thing that could happen for everybody concerned. If they couldn’t achieve amicable coexistence . . .

  Well, the world would get a lot colder and meaner, if that happened. The possibility troubled him more than he liked to say.

  So he throttled back his impatience, put the car in drive and pulled sedately away from the curb and into traffic.

  “Tell the house staff to prepare a meal for when we arrive,” he said over his shoulder.

  “You got it,” Eva said.

  He glanced in the rearview mirror. Eva’s dark head bent as she texted on her phone. His attention turned to Pia, who watched out her window curiously. She had never been to D.C. before and was hoping to find time to sightsee some of the famous landmarks.

  Did she look more pale than usual? She wasn’t wearing makeup. Frowning, he asked telepathically, You okay?

  She turned to smile at him. Don’t fuss. I’m fine.

  Fuss? He wasn’t a fusser. Scowling, he accelerated aggressively to cut across traffic to the fast lane. After he finished the maneuver, he told her shortly, You look pale.

  I always look pale. She placed a slender hand on his thigh. Her light touch managed to dispel his bad temper. She said aloud, “How long do we have until we need to leave for the White House this evening?”

  “Couple hours.” He glanced at her again, noting the dark shadows underneath her eyes. “There’s time to eat, and you can take a nap before we go.”

  She shook her head at him with a smile filled with feminine pity. “Oh no, I can’t. I’ve never been to the White House before. I’m not going to just throw on clean clothes and run my fingers through my hair, like you do.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “Well, at some point I am going to shave too.”

  Her eyes danced. “So am I. Plus, there’s the makeup, and I’m going to put my hair up, so I need to allow time for hot curlers.”

  He loved it when she pinned her hair up in big, fat curls, in a style reminiscent of sixties chic. It bared the elegant line of her neck, which he loved to explore with his mouth.

  Later, when it was time to take her hair down, he would be the one to do the small chore, letting the curls fall loose one by one as he kissed the nape of her neck and slid down the zipper of her dress.

  In an instant, he was hard again and aching for her. It was hard to believe he had just taken her so many times on the plane. The mating frenzy was the only thing that had ever held him in its grip for long.

  If it was a prison, it was one he didn’t want to leave. He relished its claws digging underneath his skin, driving him to extremes. But they wouldn’t have time now to succumb to another bout of lovemaking until after the evening’s function.

  Forcing the urge back, he exhaled on a long, steady breath.

  Pia’s fingers tightened on his thigh. Either she could scent the mating pheromones, or she had been eyeing his crotch.

  He looked at her. Her gaze was down and directed sidelong. She was watching his crotch, and a rose blush stained her pale cheeks. She raised her gaze to look at him, biting her lip. She was as much a prisoner of the mating frenzy as he was, and she looked helpless with desire.

  Fuck yeah.

  He loved it when she was helpless and begging for his touch.

  “Jeebus,” muttered Eva. “Gettin’ hot in here.” She rolled down her window and fresh air swirled into the car. “Thank the gods we’re almost there.”

  In short order, he turned onto Massachusetts Avenue. He glanced at Pia again as they approached the section known as Embassy Row, where embassies, diplomatic missions and other representations were concentrated.

  The mansions grew larger, older and grander, and the rows of town houses became more spacious. When he pulled through the front gates of the Wyr mansion, her eyes went round.

  She whispered, “This is ours?”

  “This is ours,” he said. “It’s been the Wyr residence in Washington since 1895.”

  As he parked under the portico, the front doors opened, and two uniformed Wyr came briskly down the steps. Behind them, the gates quietly closed.

  She unbuckled her seat belt as she craned to stare up at the roof, as she asked, “How many rooms does it have?

  “Eight bedrooms, twelve bathrooms, all modernized,” he told her. “Dining room, library, etc.”

  “Along with a very modern home theater, bowling alley, and a wine cellar in the basement,” Eva added. “There’s a black, wrought iron railing that runs up both sides of a marble staircase. You sho
uld see the house lit up at night. I took a walk through the neighborhood last night. It’s all white marble and light. Very elegant.”

  The property also had tunnels that ran several blocks underground in different directions before leading to innocuous-looking openings—street gutters, the sewage system with manholes and the like.

  Nobody would trap the Wyr in this place. In case of emergency, those who couldn’t fly could still get out. He always liked to lay contingency plans, especially in places that could be less than friendly.

  Once the car had stopped moving, Eva stepped out to direct the guards to the rear of the SUV, where they pulled out luggage and carried it inside.

  Pia squinted at Dragos. “You almost never come here. It’s got to be a hellacious expense to keep this property maintained.”

  He inclined his head in agreement. “When I come here, I come as a world-class power. Washington does well to remember that. One of the ways I choose to remind them of that fact is by maintaining this residence.”

  “I guess keeping one of the town houses wouldn’t carry the same impact, even though I’m sure they’re just as spectacular in their own way.”

  “Also, I would never share walls with someone else. It leaves one too vulnerable.” He stepped out of the vehicle, his sharp predator’s gaze studying the surroundings outside the black iron fence.

  He knew watchers were stationed on the residence, both human and other. He might have carefully cultivated allies among humankind, but he had no true friends here. Humankind was as wary of the dragon as any of the Elder Races. Many of the watchers would be unfriendly, but none of them were visible.

  As he surveyed the area, the guards returned to make sure they had carried everything in. One of the guards, a tall, young handsome male, offered his hand to Pia with a smile.

  Violent jealousy shot through Dragos’s body. Moving fast, he rounded the front of the vehicle and bared his teeth to hiss at the other male before Pia had a chance to grasp the outstretched fingers.

  The guard recoiled, turning pale, and Pia’s expression stilled as her gaze turned sharp and wary. She paused, one slender, sandaled foot already on the pavement.